Michael D. Davis.

So, it’s spring. Flowers are blooming, and piles of random odds and ends are left out on the berm for a disgruntled city worker to pick up.

Yeah, we threw a load of junk out there to be taken. We do every year. Somehow we always have some more random crap just lying around to throw into a heap. This year, I noticed Ma threw out on the berm something of note, a birdhouse. It was old, it was splintery, it was strange, yes, I made it.

I’ve always liked birds. For a kid with both asthma and allergies to everything that exists outside, watching the birds at a feeder has always been nice. So, one day in high school I get it into my head I’m gonna make a birdhouse. Mainly, because scraps of wood were already there.

I don’t remember, but I doubt that I did any sawing. This was a simple job. I had three relatively rectangular pieces, those became the front, the back, and the bottom. I then found two square chunks close to equal size, these were the sides. I nailed it all together and I had a little box. For the top, I had a piece of wood three times the width of the rest of the birdhouse. I forget how or why, but hinges were added so that the top flapped open. I then took two hooks and put them on the sides of the birdhouse. I cut an old wire hanger, stretched it out, then attached it to the hooks. It was an overly long wire, but it had to be to go over the birdhouse roof. I remember I had my father help me with a few things. Mostly drilling the hole in the front, and putting it in the tree.

I’d done all this on a weekend as my Ma worked, so when she got home I unveiled my creation. Ma looked up at the scrap wood wire hanger birdhouse hanging from the tree and said, “My God, no self-respecting bird will live in that.” I was hurt, but I also laughed. The bad thing is she was right. That was over 10 years ago, and that birdhouse never saw a tenant.

When I went back to school that week, I told one of my teachers what I thought was a funny story about a crappy attempt to build a birdhouse and my Ma’s funny reaction. Well, when I got to the funny part, ya know, Ma’s punchline, the teacher felt bad for me, she thought it was cruel. I guess in other households maybe that’s cruel, I don’t know, for the Davis household, it’s just humor.

Anyway, the birdhouse is gone now. I think I just heard a flock of finches sigh in relief.